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BEY. DR. TALMAGE.
THE BROOKLYN DIVINE’S SUN«
DAY SERMON.
Subject: “ The Literature of the
Dust.”
Text: ‘‘Jesus stooped down and wrote on
the ground." —John viii., 6.'
A Mohammedan mosque stands now where
once stood Herod’s temple, the scene of my
text. Kolomon’s temple had stood there, but
Nebuchadnezzar thundered it down. Zoro
babel’s temple had stood there, but that had
been prostrated. Now we take our places
in a temple that Herod built because he was
fond of great architecture and he wanted the
preceding temples to seem insignificant. Put
eight or ten cathedrals together and they
would not equal that structure. It covered
nineteen acres. There were marble pillars
supporting roofs of ceder and silver tables
on which stood golden cups, and thero were
carvings exquisite and inscriptions resplen
dent, glittering balustrados and ornamented
gateways. The building of this temple kept
fyn thousand workmen busy forty six years.
In that stupendous pile of pomp and mag
nificence sat Christ, and a 1 sterling throng
stood about him, when a wild disturbance
took place. A group of men are pulling and
flushing along a woman who has committed
the worst crime against society. When
they have brought her in front of Christ,
they ask that He sentence her to death by
stoning. They are a critical, merci
less, disingenuous crowd. They want
to get Christ into controversy and
public reprehension. If He say: “Let
her die,” they will charge Him with cruelty.
If He let her go, they will charge Him with
being in complicity with wickedness.
Whichever way He does, they would howl
at Him. Then occurs a scene which has
not been sufficiently regarded. He leaves
the lounge or bench on which He was
sitting and goes down on one knee, or
both knees, and with the forefinger of
His right hand He begins to write in
the dust of the floor, word after word. But
they were not to be diverted or hindered.
They kept on demanding that He settle this
case of transgression until He looked up and
tt’d them that they might themselves begin
thewoman’s assassination, if the complainant
whobad never done anything wrong him
self would open the fire. “Go ahead,
but be sure that the man who flings
the first missile is immaculate.” Then He
resumed writing with His fmger in the dust
cf the floor, word after word. Instead of
looking over His shoulder to see what He had
written the scoundrels skulked away.
Finally, the whole place is clear of pur
suers, antagonists and plaintiffs, and when
Christ has finished this strange chirography
In the dust. He loo’:s up and finds the
woman all alone. The prisoner is the only
one of the court; room left, the judges, the
police, the prosecuting attorneys having
cleared out. Christ is victor, and He says to
the woman: “Where are the prosecutors in
this case? Are they all gone? Then I dis
charge you; go and sin no more.”
I have al ways wondered what Christ wrote
on thr ground. For do you realize that is
the o. v time that He ever wrote at all? I
know ,uat Eusebius says that Christ once
wrote a letter to Abgarus, the King of
Edessa, but there is no good evidence of such
a correspondence. The wisest being the
world ever saw and the one who
had more to say than any one who ever
lived, never writing a book or a chapter, or
a page or a paragraph, or a word on parch
ment. Nothing but this literature of the
dust, and one sweep of a brush or one
breath of a wind obliterated that forever.
Among all the rolls of the volumes of
the first library founded at Thebes
there was not one scroll of Christ. Among
the seven hundred thousand books of the
A'exandrian library, which by the infamous
decree of Caliph Omar were used as fuel
to heat the four thousand baths of
the city, not one sentence had Christ,
penned. Among all the infinitude of
volumes now standing in the libraries of
Edinburgh, the British Museum, or Berlin or
Vienna, or the learned repositories of all
nations, not one word written directly by
the finger of Christ! All thnt ho ever wrote
he wrote in dust, uncertain, shifting, van
ishing dust.
AJy text says He stooped down and wrote
on tlie ground. Standing straight up a man
might write on the ground with a staff,
but if with bis fingers he would
write in the dust, he must bend clear
over. Aye, he must get at least
on one knee or he cannot write on the
ground. Be not surprised that He
stooped down. His whole life was a
stooping down. Stooping down from
castle to barn. Stoopiug down from
celestial homage to mobocratic jeer.
From residence abort the stars to where a
star5 tar had to fall to designate His landing place.
Tom heaven’s front door to the world’s back
gate. From writing in round and silvered
letters of constellation and galaxy on
the blue scroll of heaven, to writing on the
ground in the dust, which the feet of the
crowd had left in Herod’s temple.
If in January you have ever stepped
out of a prince’s conservatory that
had Mexican cactus and magno
lias in full bloom, into the outside air ten de
grees below zero, you may get some idea of
Christ's change of atmosphere from celestial
to terrestrial. How many heavens there are
I know not, but there are at least three, for
Paul was “caught up into the third heaven.”
Christ came down from highest heaven to
the second heaven, and down from second
heaven to first heaven, down swifter than
meteors eve'r fell, down amidst stellar spen
dors that Himself eclipsed, down through
clouds, through atmospheres, through appall
ing space, down to where there was no lower
depth. From being waited on at the ban
quet of the skies to the broiling of fish for
His own breakfast on the hanks ot the lake.
From emb’azoned chariots of eternity
to the saddle of a mule’s back. The
homage ; cherubic, seraphic, arehangelic,
to the paying of sixty-two and a half cents
of tax to C.csar. From the deathless
country to a tomb built to hide human
dissolution. The uplifted wave of Galilee
was high, but He had to come down before,
with His feet, He could tou h it, and the
whirlwind that rose above the billow
was higher yet, but He had to come
down before', with His lip. He could
kiss it -info quiet. Bethlehem a stooping
down. Nazareth a stooning down. Death
between two burglars a stooping down.
Yes, it was in consonance with humiliations
that l ad gone before and with self abnega
tions that came after, when on that memor
able day in Herod’s temple He stooped down
and wrote on the ground.
Whether the words He was writing were in
Greek, or Latin, or Hebrew, I cannot say,
for He knew ail those languages. But He is
still stooping down and with His finger writ
ing on the ground; in the winter in letters
of crystals, in the spring in letters of
flowers, in summer in golden letters of
harvest, in autumn in letters of fire on fall -n
leaves. How it would sweeten up and en
rich and emblazon this world could we see
Christ’s cnligraphy all over it. This world
was not flung out into space thousands of
years ago and then left to look out for it
self. It is still under the divine care.
Christ never for a half second takes His
hand off of it, or it would soon be a ship
wrecked world, a defunct world, an obsolete
world, an abandoned world, a dead world.
“Let there be light” was said at the begin
ning. And Christ stands under the wintry
skies and says: Let there be snowflakes to en
rich the earth: and under the clouds of spring
and says: Come ye blossoms and make re
dolent the orchards, and in September, dips
the branches into the vat of beautiful co-ors
and swings them in the hazv air No whim
of mine is this. “Without Him was not
anything made that was rnada ctlllß j
writing on the ground. If w e could
see His hand in all the passing
seasons Bnow it would illumine the world.
All verdure and foilage would be in allegoric,
and again we would hear Hun say as of old.
“Consider the Idles of the field how they
grow” and we would not hear the whistle
of a quad or the cawing of a
raven or the roundelay of a v ‘ ro "",
thresher, without saying: Bebo d
the fowls of the air, they gather not into
narns. yet your Heavenly Father feedeth
theniand a Dominic hen of the barnyard
could l it cluck for her brood, yet we would
hear Christ saying as of old: “How often
would I have gathered thv children together,
even as a hen gathered her chickens
under her wings;” and through the redolent
hedges we would hear Christ, saying: “I am
the rose of Sharon;” we could not dip the
seasoning from the salt cellar without think
ing of the Divine suggestion: “Ye are the
salt of the earth, but if the salt have lost its
savor, it is fit for nothing but to be
cast out and trodden under foot
of men.” Let us wake up
from our stupidity and take the whole world
as a para' le. Then if with gun amt pack of
hounds we start off before daw n and see the
morning coming down o f the hills to meet
us. we would cry out with the evangelist:
“The day spring from on high hath
visited us;” or caught in a snowstorm
while struggling home, eyebrows and
beard and apparel all covered with the whirl
ing flakes, we would cry out with David:
“Wash me and I shall be whiter than sno
In a picture gallerv of Europe, there is on the
ceiling an exquisite fresco, but people
having to look straight up. it wearied and
dizzied them, and bent their necks almost be
yond endurance, so a great looking-glass
was put near the floor and now visitors onlv
need to look easily down into this mir
ror and they see the fresco at their
feet. And so much of all the heaven
of God’s truth is reflected in this world as in
a mirror, and the things that are above
are copied by things all around us. What
right have wo to throw away one of God’s
Bibles, ave, the first Bible He ever gave the
race? We talk about the Old Testament and
the New Testiment, but the oldest Testa
ment contains the lessons of the natural
world. Some people like the New Testament
so well they discard the Old Testament.
Shall we like the New Testament and the
Old Testament so well as to depreciate the
oldest; namely, that which was written
before Moses was put afloat on the boat of
leaves which was calked with asphaltum: or
reject the Genesis and the Revelation that
were written centuries l ofore Adam lost a
rib and gained a wife? No, no; when Deity
stoops down and writes on the ground,
let us real it. I would have no
less appreciation of the Bible on paper
that comes out of the paper mill, but _ I
would urge appreciation of the Bible im
the grass, the Bible in the sand hill,
the Bible in the geranium, the Bible in
the asphodel, the Bible in the dust.
Some one asked an ancient king
whether he had seen the eclipse of the sun.
“No.” said he. "I have so much to do on
earth, I have no time to look at heaven.' 1
And if our faculties were all awake in the
study of God, we would not have time to go
much further than the first grass blade. I
have no fear that natural religion will ever
contradict what we call revealed religion. I
have no sympathy with the foi'owers of
Aristotle, who after the telescope was in
vented. wou’d not look through it, lest it
contradict some of the th ’orie.s of their great
master. I shall be glad to put against one
lid of the Bible the microscope, and against
the other lid of the Bible the telescope.
But when Christ stooped down and wrote
on the ground, what did He write? The
Pharisees did not stop to examine. The
cowards, whipped of their own conscience;,
fled pell inell. Nothing will flav a man like
an aroused conscience. Dr. S evens, in
his “History of Methodism,” says that
when Rev. Benjamin Abbott of olden
times was preaching, he exclaimed: “For
aught I know there may be a murderer in
this house,” and a man rose in the assemblage
and started for the door and bawled aloud,
confessing to a murder he had committed
fifteen years before. And no wonder these
Pharisees, reminded of their sins, took
to their heels. But what did Christ write
on the ground? The Bible does not state.
Yet, as Christ never wrote anything except
that onre. you cannot blame us for wanting
to know what He really did write. But lam
certain He wrote nothing trivial, or nothing
unimportant. And will you allow me
to say that I think I know what
He wrote on the ground? I judge
from the circumstances. He might
have written other things, but kneeling there
in the temple, surrounded by a pack o(
hypocrites, who were a self appointed con
stabulary, and having in His presence a per
secuted woman who evidently was very peni
tent for her sins. I am sure He wrote
two words both of them graphic and tre
mendous and reverberating. And the one
word was hypocrisy and tho other word
was forgiveness. From the way these
Pharisees and scribes vacated the premises
and got out into tho fresh air, as Christ,
with just one ironical sentence,
unmasked them, I krlow they were first
class hypocrites. It was then as it is now.
The more faults and inconsistencies people
have of their own, the more severe and cen
sorious are they about the faults of others
Here they are—twenty stout men arrest
ing and arraigning one weak woman,
Magnificent business to be engaged irf. They
wanted the fun of seeing her faint away un
der a heavy judicial sentence from Christ,
and then after she had been taken outside
the city and fastened &t the foot of the prec
ipice, the Scribes and Pharisees wanted the
satisfaction of each coming and dropping s
big stone on her head, for that was the style
of capital punishment that they asked for.
Some people have taken the responsibilitv
of saying that Christ never laughed. But 1
think as He saw those men drop every
thing, chagrined, mortified, exposed
and go out quicker than they came in, Ht
must have laughed. At any rate, it makes
me laugh to read of it. All of these liber
tines, dramatizing indignation against im
purity. Blind bats lecturing on optics. A
flock of crows on their way up from a car
cass, denouncing carrion. Yes, 1 think that
one word written on the ground that
day by the finger of Christ was the awful
word of hypocrisy. But lam sure there was
another word in that dust. From her entire
manner I am sure that arraigned woman
was repentant, She made no apology, and
Christ in no wise belittled her sin
But her supplicatory behavior and her tear:
moved Him, and when He stooped down tc
write on the ground. He wrote that mighty,
that imperial word, forgiveness. When
on Sinai God wrote the law, Ho wrote
it with finger of lightning om table
of stone, each word cut as by a chisel
into the hard granite surface. But when He
writes the offense of this woman He writes it
in the dust so that it can be easily run be 1
out, and when she repents of it, oh. He was
a merciful Christ! I was reading of a
legend that is told in the far East about
Hin. He was walking through the streets of
a city and He saw a crowd around a dead
dog. And one man said: “Whac a loath
some object is that dog!” “Yes,” said
another, “his ears are mauled and bleeding.”
“Yes,” said another, “even his hide would
pot be of any use to the tanner.” “Yes,”
Said another, “the odor of his carcass is dread
ful.” Then Christ, standing there, said
‘•But pearls cannot equal the whiteness of
His teeth.” Then the people, moved by the
idea that any one could find anything
pleasant concerning a dead dog, said:
“Why, this must be Jesus of Naza
reth.” Reproved and convicted they went
away. Surely this legend of Christ is good
snough to be true. Kindness in all His
words and ways and habits. Forgive
ness. Word of "eleven letters, and some of
•hem thrones, and some of them palm
branches. Better have Christ write close
our names that one word, though He
write it in dust, than to have our »ame cut
Into monumental granite with the letters that
he storms of a thousand years cannot oblit
;rat?. Bishop Babington had a book of only
three leaves. The first leaf was black, the
tecond leaf red, the third leaf white. The
i flack leaf suggested sin: the red leaf atone
nent; the white leaf purifi ation. That is
die whole story. God will abundantly
jardon.
I must not forget to s«; that as Christ,
flopping down, with His finger wrote on the
iround, it is evident that His sympathies are
with this penitent woman, and that He has
ao sympathy with her hypocritical pursuers,
lust opposite to that is the world's habit.
Why didn’t these unclean Pharisees bring
jne of their'own number to Christ for ex
! joriation and capital punishment? No, no;
I they overlook that in a man which they
\ iamnate in a woman. And so the world has
Dad for offending women scourges and
jbiurgatiou. and for iust one offense she
he comes an outcast, while for men whose
lives have been sodoinic for twenty years,
the world swings opens its doors of brilliant
welcome, and they may sit in legislatures and
senates and parliaments or on thrones. Unlike
the Christ of my text, the world writes a
plan’s misdemeanor in dust, but chisels a
woman’s offense with greßt capitals upon in
pffaceahle marble. For foreign lords
and princes, whose names cannot even
be mentioned in respectable circles
abroad, because they are walk
ing lazarettos of abomination, our
American princesses of fortune * ait. and at
the first beck sail out with them into the
blackness of darkness forever. And in what
are called higher circles of society there is now
not only their imitation of foreign dress and
foreign manners, but an imitation of foreign
iissoluteness. I like an Englishman and 1
like an American, but the sickest creature on
?arth is an American playing tho English
man. Society n eds to be reconstructed on
this subject. Treat them alike, masculine
grime and feminine crime. If you cut the
ane in granite, cut them both in granite,
[f you write the one in dust, write the
ather in dust. No. no, says tho world, let
woman go down and let man go up. What
is that t hear plashing into tho East River at
midnight, and then there is a gurgle as of
strangulation, and all is still. Never mind.
It is onlv a woman too discouraged to live.
Let the mills of the cruel world grind right
on.
But while I of Christ of the text,
His stooping down writing in the dust, do
not think I underrate the literature of the
dust. It is the most solemn and tremendous
of all literature. It is the greatest ot ail
libraries. W 1 en Layard exhumed Nineveh
he was only opening the door of its
mighty dust. The excavations of
Pompeii have only been the unclasp
ing of the lids of a volume of a nation’s dust.
When Admiral Farragut and his friends, a
few years ago, visited that resurrected city,
the house of Ralbo, who had been one of its
ch ef citizens in its prosperous days, was
opened and a tab’e was spread in that house
which eighteen hundred and ten years has
been buried by volcanic eruption, and Farra
gut and h'S guests walked over the
exquisite mosaics and under the beautiful
fresco, and it almost seemed like being enter
tained by those who eighteen centuries ago
had turned to dust. Oh._ this mighty
literature of the dust. Where are the
remains of Sennacherib and Attila and
Epamimondas and Tamerlane and Tro
jan and Philip of Maeedon and Julius
IJmsar? Dust! Where arc the heroes
who fought on both sides at Ch rronea. at
Hastings, at Marathon, at Cressy, of the 110,-
500 men who fought at Agincourt, of the
>50,000 men who faced death at Jena, of the
100,000 whoso armor glittered in the sun at
Wragram, of the 1,0 )0,000 men under Darius
at Arbella, of the 2,041,030 men under Xerxes
at Thermopylae? Dust!
Where are the guests who danced the floors
Df the Alhambra, or the Persian palaces of
Ahasuerus? Dust! Where are the musicians
who played and the orators who spoke, and
the sculptors who chiseled. and the archi
tects who built in all tho centuries ex
cept our own? Dust! The greatest
library of the world, that which has
the widest shelves and the longest ais’es
and the most multitudinous volumes
and the vastest wealth, is the underground
library. It is the royal library, the con
tinental library, the hemispheric library,
the planetary librarv. the library of
k>'« dust. Aul all these librarv cases
will be opened, and all these scrolls
unrolled and all these volumes unclasped and
ns easily as in your library or mine we take
up a book, blow tho dust off of it, and turn
over its pages, so easily will the Lor l of t’ie
Resurrection j >ick up out of this library of dust
every volume of human life anil open it and
read it and display it. And the volume
will be rebound, to b set in the roval li
brary of the King’s palace, or in the prison
library of the self destroyed. Oh, this
mighty literature of the dust! It is not so
wonderful after all that Christ chose, instead
of an inkstand, the impressionable san 1 on
the floor of an ancient temple, and, instead
Df a hard pen, put forth His forefinger with
the same kind of nerve, an 1 inuscD, and
bone, and flesh, as that which makes up our
own forefinger, and wrota the awful doom
of hypocrisy and full and complete foregive
ness for repentant sinners, even the worst.
And now 1 can believe that which I read,
how that a mother kept burning a candle n
the window every night for ten years, and
one night very late a poor waif of the street
entered. The aged woman said to her: “Sit
down by the fire,” and the stranger said:
“Why do you keep that light in the win
dow:” The aged woman said: “That
is to light my wayward daughter
when she returns. Since she went away ten
years ago my hair has turned white. Folks
blame me for worrying about her, but you
see I am her mother, and sometimes, half a
dozen times a night, I open the door and
look out into the darkness and cry:
‘Lizzie! Lizzie!’ But I must not
tell you any more about my
trouble, for I guess, from the way you cry,
you have trouble enough of your own.
TTliv, how cold and sick you seem: Ob, my:
can "it be? Yes, you are Lizzie, my own lost
child. Thank God that you are home again!”
And what a time of rejoicing there was in
that house that night! Anil Christ again
stooped down. and in the ashes
of that hearth. now lighted up
not more by the great blazing logs than by
the joy of a reunited household, wrote the
same liberating words that He had written
more than eighteen hundred years ago in the
dust o ; the Jerusalem temple. Forgiveness!
A word broad enough and high enough to
let jxass through it all the armies of heaven, a
million abreast, on white horses, nostril to
nostril, flank to flank.
Romance of a Raeehor- e.
The career of the celebrated thorough
bred stallion Billet, who died in Ken
tucky recently, is full of romance, and
in its way quite as much a matter for
the nove.ist’s pen as that of the far
famed Go lolpliin Arabian.
Billet ran as a two-year-old about nine
teen times in England, and won very
few of his races. As a three-year old he
was thought fit only fur hurdle racing,
and for that purpose was given to a
young sporting man who at the present
moment is earning a precarious living
in New York us a horse dealer. Break
ing down on the eve of a big race, Billet
was thought to be fit only for the sham
bles or whatever he might briug in the
Liverpool docks. Purchased there for a
song, he was brought to America and
was ictually hawked about the streets
looking for a purchaser. By some stroke
of destiny lie fell into the hands of a
Western breeder, and first attracted at
tention as the sire of Voltnrno, a noted
long distance performer about ten years
ago.
Messrs. Bowen, Clay and Woodford,
of Paris, Ky., were just then looking for
a stallion to put at the head of their liun
nymede. They purchased Billet f«,r ; 5,-
000,000, and though the m ires at this
stud were young and unknown, their
produce to Billet at once began to win
many of tlie two-year stakes. Miss
Woodford’s career in 1883, when she was
a three-year-old, supplemented by her
unbeaten career in 1884, established
Billet as one of the leading sires of the
country. Elias Laurence, Barnes, Sir
Dixon, Raeelaud, Belviderc. The Lion
ess and others have earned great fame
for their sire, once thought worthless.
—Few Yorfc Journal.
The horse of a doctor at Dover, Mo.,
though thirty-six y nrs old, is strong
and lively and performs very good ser
vice.
BUDGET OE FUN.
HUMOROUS SKETCHES FROM
VARIOUS SOURCES.
She Scored One—She Felt Wretched
About It—The Other String
to the Bow-Tough
—Etc., Etc.
Quoth he: “You are my life, dear girl,
Consent my wife to be.”
‘I cannot, George,” she quick returned,
“The law forbids, you see.”
“The law forbids!” he gasped. “Yes, George,”
She playfully replied,
“If you should take ‘your life,’ of course,
You’d be a suicide.”
Yonkers Gazette.
She Felt, Wretched About It.
Mrs. Gushington—“Why, Julia, what
makes you look so down-hearted?”
Julia—“My servant has left me, and
my poor old mother, who is just barely
recovered from an attack of rheumatism,
is compelled to do all the housework.”
— Siftings.
The Other String to the Bow.
Mrs. Smallsalary—“l don’tseehow wo
arc going to keep the children warm this
winter, Alfred.”
Mr. Smallsalary—“Well, I suppose we
can afford a fire part of the time, and
part of the time we can take turns spank
ing them.”— Burlington Free Press.
Tough!
Mr. Long Waiting (the tailor) —“I
would like very much to see Mr. Ba
boony. An important matter of busi
ness, you know ”
Mr. Baboony’s Man —"I'm very sorry,
sir, but Mr. Baboony’s busily hengaged,
sir, and can’t be seen. He's a studying,
sir, which coat he shall wear to the club
to-day, and it’d be ruin to me if I hin
terrupted him, sir!”— Siftings.
A Faithful Heart.
Tumblethwaite had proposed and been
accepted, and as he slipped the engage
ment ring upon her finger, he said trem
ulously :
“Barling, you will always wear it
upon this linger, won't you?” and the
girl with a shy glance of love, replied:
“Always, George, always—when I am
with you.’ - — Life.
Otherwise He Was Safe.
Hooligan—“So ye do bees teelin’ me
thet Brannigan was murthered be bur
glars?”
Mooney—“Yis, be jabbers, it’s a fact.”
Hooligan—“An’ did they get his
money ?”
Mooney—“Niveracent. Sure he had
it hid safe, an’ barrin’ losin’ his life
Brannigan kim out wid a whole shkin.”
—American.
No Danger Of Its Spreading.
Gus Snoterly—“These Chinese must
go.”
Charlie Knickerbocker—“ What have
they been doing now ?”
“I have been reading how they make
it a sacred rite to pay every cent they
owe before the beginning of the new
year. Suppose they introduce that cus
tom in this country
“What if they do? no danger
of its spreading.”— Siftings.
Sing Par Away.
“What shall I asked,
they had persuadt d sit
the piano stool in the saloon. jp
“Drifting,” said one.
“When the Tide Comes In,” sawr an
other.
“Sailing,” proposed a third.
“Oh, sing ‘Far Away,’ suggested the
iraseible old gentkmm on the back
lettee. The Ocean.
How to Li am German.
“If you want to learn German,” said
Mr. Leo Hirscb,State printer, “I can tell
you how to do so in twenty-four hours. ”
“Well, tell us,” said his auditors in
chorus and with increased interest.
“Just take the whole German lan
guage,” said Mr. Hirsth, slowly,soberly,
ind with emphasis; “divide it into
twenty-four parts, and learn one part
every hour in the day.”— Columbus Dii
vatch.
A Dear Little Name.
Mrs. Slick (to caller) —“This is my
little four-year-old Johnny, Mrs. llob
lon.”
Mrs. Hobson (gushingly)—“lndeed,
why bless your sweet little heart come
and kiss me. Oh, what a delightful
little kiss and what a nice little breath!
Can you tell me your dear little name?”
Johnny—“lethin, ith Johnny Wat
routh Wathingtou Harrithon Thlick.”—
Epoch.
Rejuvenated.
“Did you ever notice that the con
fectioner’s name is on these cookies?”
queried Waggley.
“No.”
“Well, it is, and there’s only one thing
lacking about it.”
“What’s that?”
“A date.”
And then the landlady, after dinner,
took ’em out on the back stoop and
sandpapered ’em. Detroit Free l*ress.
At tlie Table in Two Acts
“Ma, may I speak.”
“You know that you are forbidden to
talk at table, my dear,”
“t an’t I just say one thing?”
“No, Pepi! \\ hen papa has finished
his paper, then you may talk.”
Papa lays down his paper after break
fast and asks: “Well, Pepi, what did
you want to say ?”
"I wanted to say that the water is run
ning in the bath-room, and the tub is
leaking over like everything.”— Time.
An Kasy One.
“Fapa,” sweetly lisped little Helio
gabalus, “what relation are the children
of first cousins to one another?”
“Second cousins, of course,” replied
Agrippinus.
“Nop. Guess again.”
“Thev certainly are.”
“Nop.”
“What relation are they,then, marty?’
“Brothers and sisters, of course.”
Agrippinus studied fully five minutes
before he found the combination. —Sm
Eranusco Examiner.
A Crushing Blow.
( “May I look through your waste
Ussket?” inquired the young man, enter
ing timidly.
“Certainly,” said the editor. “What
do you want to find?”
“A little poem on ‘Mortality’ that I
sent in yesterday.”
‘ ‘My dear sir. that poem was accepted
and will appear to-morrow. I will draw
you a check for $25, and I assure you
)>
But he spoke to life’ess ears. The
youug man had fallen to the floor. The
shock had killed him. Chicago Tribune.
Mercantile Confidence.
“Jimplecute & Co. have failed,” said
the confidential clerk of Hardscrabble &
Hardscrabble to the senior partner.
“Well, they don’t owe us anything,
do they?” asked the senior partner.
“No; as nearly as I can find out they
have failed at their own expense.”
“Bah!” said the senior partner, in dis
gust, “that is not a failure at all. That
is the work of dunderheads, sir. Do not
degrade the word ‘failure’ by applying
it to a mere unbusinesslike smash-up.
I am surprised at you, Mr. Longmeter.”
Tlie Real Estate Boom Had Passed.
“Joshua,” said a fanner, who lived a
few miles from a Western town, in con
versation with his son, “where do you
think we had better plant our potatoes
next spring?”
“I don't know, father. I hadn’t
thought of it. How would the land
down by the creek do?”
“Down by the creek!” repeated the
oldman, scornfully. “We'il plant them
at the corner of ItOtli and Gay streets,
lot six, block 317, Jenkins’s addition to
the City of Swamp Hollow.” — Merchant'
Traveler.
The Judge Sighed.
A short time after tho jury had retired
from a Chicago criminal court room, the
bailiff was startled by a furious uoise in
the jury room.
“I'ou needn't kick in there,” he cried,
“for we don’t intend to let you out till
you are ready with your verdict. This
is au important case.”
“For heaven’s sake let us out,” one of
the jurymen shouted.
“Have you got a \erdict?”
“No, but ”
“Then you can’t come out.”
“I tell you that ”
“And I tell you that you are not com
ing out.”
The noise within became more furious,
the cries became loud and distressing.
The bailiff at length open the door.
The jurymen rushed out, followed by a
dense volume of smoke. The room was
on fire. When the judge heard of the
jury’3 narrow escape, he sighed sadly.
He had had much experience with ju
ries, so much, indeed, that he has had the
bailiff’s salary reduced.— Arkansas Trav
eler.
The New Reporter Gets Solid.
It was the new reporter who had come
m, covered with perspiration and dust,
as the la3tform went to press.
“Did it take you alt day to do that
park water works detail,’’snarled the city
| editor.
“S-sht speak low,” whispered the
; new “special” in the C. E.’sear. “Got
on to an Al suicide out in the park —
S defalcation, probably.’'
“Great Casar! and we Lave gone to
| press,” gasped the editor; “the after
; noon papers will get a be.it on us to
morrow.”
“Not much !’’chuck led the reporter; “I
knew I couldn’t get here in time for the
last edition, so I just queered the find.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why, I dragged the body into the
bushes and covered it up with grass and
things. A bloodhound couldn’t find it.
To morrow we will develop the claim
and give ’em a two-column sensation.”
With tears in his eyes the city editor
arose and fell upon his subordinate’s
neck. “You are an honor to the profes
sion,” he sobbed: “I’ll see that your
salary is increased $2 a month. I will,
by jingo!”— inion Printer.
A Big Bug and a Small Potato.
Ex-Attorney General Palmer is fond of
a joke, and he isn’t put out a bit if the
joke is on him, just so it is funny. He
dresses very neatly and is not given to
jewelry except in the matter of scarf
pins, and an adornment of this character
once led to a remark about him lhat set
all Wilkesbarre to laughing. He had
purchased a very handsome pin in the
shape of a bug, w hich was of rather
loud size and pretty conspicuous. It
looked like an exaggerated potato bug.
His friends guyed him considerably
about it, and that scarfpin became the talk
of the town. One day a prominent German
saloon keeper passed mr. Palmer as the
latter stood at his office door, looked out
the corner of his eye at the scarfpin and
smiled. Instantly the attorney, in his
quick, sharp way, sa < : 4p
“Well. Duchy, what’s the matter with I
you? What are you laughing at?”
“Oh, nodings, Mr. Balrner?”
“Yes you were. You were laughing
at this scarfpin. What’s the matter with
it?”
“I guess it’s all right, Mr. Balrner.”
“Well, look at it and see. Is there
anything the matter with it? Examine
it.”
The German drew nigh, carefully
scanned the r>in, looked it over gravely,
and was about to turn aWay, when Mr.
Palmer said:
“Well, what's the matter with that
bug scarfpin? What do you think?”
“Veil, Mr. Balrner,’ said the Germar. j
“I don’d know but vat I think I never
before saw so big a bug on so schmall a
potato,” and be walked off with a queer :
grin on his face.
The remark struck Mr. Palmer as
being exceeding funny, and he told it to
some of his friends.— Harrisburg {Penn.)
Telegraph.
Alaska has a coast line of 4000 miles,
and its climate varies greatly according
to location. In the S.tk i district there
are from 1! 0 to 275 rainy days in the
year. January, February and June are
the pleasantest months.
Of all the beet sugar factories yet in
stituted in the United States none is now
in operation except one in California,and
this one, it is reported, is largely en
gaged in refining Sandwich Island cane
sugar.
Mr. Backgammon (who is giving a
small lunch to some Washington friends,
to the chief musician) —“Strike up the
‘Pirates’ Chorus’ now. Professor. They’re
just going into the dining room.”— lime.
HOUSEHOLD AFFAIRS.
To Tell the Ago of Egga.
We recommend the following process
for finding out the age of eggs, and disi
tinguishing those that are fresh fronj
those that are not. This method is based
upon the decrease in the density of eggs
as the grow old:
Dissolve two ounces of kitchen salt in
a pint of water. When a fresh laid egg
is placed in this solution it will descend
to the bottom of the vessel, while one
that his been laid on the day previous
will not quite reach the bottom. If the
egg be three days old it will swim in the
liquid, and if it be more than three days
old it will float on the surface, and pro
ject above the latter more and more in
proportion as it is older. —The Hen.
Home Maile Bread.
I make my bread about 0 o’clock r. M.
in winter, not so early in summer. I take
three pints of flour in a pan (which I
keep for the purpose), one large table
spoon of salt and one small one of lard,
and then add about three pints of quite
warm water, perhaps a little more. 1
then make a smooth batter siid add one
compressed yeast caKe (dissolved in a
little warm water), then knead, but not
any more than is necessary. I leave mine
real soft, because it is not as light when
kneaded too stiff.
After kneading, set in a warm place
over night. In the morning put in tins
and let stand about half an nour to rise.
Then bake in a moderate oven an hour,
if the oven is too hot the bread will burn
before it bakes through. Do not knead
the dough when you put ia the tins.
Just cut it out of tho pan and make into
loaves of the size you wish. Wrap the
bread up well when taken from the oven,
to keep it from drying. —New York Press.
Window Gardening.
Hardy bulbs can be relied on for flow
ering. Hyacinths are among the most
desirable for window culture. They re
quire free, dry and somewhat rich soil,
and may be set singly in very small pots,
er in groups of three or more in pots ot
proportionate size. In planting make a
cavity in the earth half the depth of the
bulb, bury lightly, then press firmly down
till it is nearly covered. The Dutch va
rieties have large flowers, red, white,
blue or yellow; the single are larger and
richer than the double. The easiest
grown are the white Homan. Its flowers
are single and somewhat smaller than
the Dutch; this is a profuse bloomer and
sweetly fragrant. Tulips in all single
varieties are good for house culture, and
lavishly repay the little care they de
mand. The great variety of colors, in
tense brilliancy and lovely shading
make them a delight to all eyeS. White
naicissus, bearing small cup-shaped
clusters of flowers, deliciously fragrant,
is valuable for winter blooming, as also
are the doable Roman and colored sorts.
Anemone fulgens is the best anemone,
bearing a multitude of rich Vermillion
blossoms. The fcliage of all this class
is very ornamental. —Sturdy Oak.
How to Roast Meats.
Good beef should have a bright red
color, not too dark, dry and tender to
the touch, fat and with a smooth open
grain.
In roasting meats one of the principal
points is to have it as juicy as possible.
Wash the meat in cold water, wipe
dry, singe with a hot iron, then place in
a dripping pan; cover the top with a
layer of suet one-half inch thick; add
drippings to the pan until one inch
deep, the pan should be at least four
inches deep; place in a hot oven and
slightly increase the heat until done;
allow thirty minutes for first pound
and fifteen minutes for each additional
pound. When done remove to a hot
plate. Add one cup of hot water to the
pan, after draining oil the drippings,
let boil two or three minutes; then
thicken with one tablespoonful of but
ter mixed v/ith one of flour; add white
pepper and salt to taste. Mushrooms,
oysters, chopped pickles or any flavor
can be added to this gravy. Another
way is to wash, place in dripping pan,
add one cup of hot water and place at
once in a hot oven, turn often until
nicely browned on all sides; remove to
a hot platter, pour the drippings off, add
one cup of sweet milk, let boil one
minute, thicken with one tablespoonful
of flour and one of butter, let boil one
or two minutes, then add salt, white
pepper and cinnamon. It is then ready
to serve. A French way of roastiDg
beef is to take a sirloin roast, mix salt,
pepper, cinnanom and cloves together,
then with a uarrow-bladed knife make
incisions about one inch deep on all sides
of the meat; put a little of the spice in
each with a small slice of garlic. Boast
according to the directions given above.
—Detroit Free J'ress.
Recipes.
Mutton Pie.— Cold mutton, the more
the better, thin slices of raw potatoes
enough to fid up the baking dish, onions,
salt and pepper to suit the taste; cover
with pastry and bake.
Auple Tapioca Pudding. —Soak over
night one cup of tapicca in six cups of
water. Next morning add one cup of
sugar, one egg, and beat well together.
Then pare, core and chop fine six or
more apples, and stir with the tapioca
in a pudding dish, and bake slowly.
Anise Seed Cake. —To one and a half
cups of sugar and one cup of butter
beaten to a cream, add four well-beaten
eggs, three cups of flour mixed with two
teaspoons of yeast powder, and half a
cup of well pickled anise seeds. Add a
little milk and essence. Bake in small
tins.
Creamed Potatoes, —Cut. cold boiled
potatoes into cubes or thin Slices. Put
them in a shallow pan, cover with miik,
and cook until the potatoes have ab
sorbed nearly all the milk. To one pint
of potatoes add a tablespoon of butter,
half a saitspoon of pepper and a littlq
chopped parsley.
Beep Stock. —Take a knuckle of beef
and separate the beef from the bones,
cutting it into small pieces; break the
bones also, red add a uart cf water to
each pound of meat; when it begins to
boil remove the scum, being careful to
do this as often as it rises; set the soup
kettle where it will simmer for rive or
six hours, or until the substance of the
meat is thoroughly extracted, then add
salt su iicient to season it; sk m out the
meat, strain out the liquid and put it
away to cool aud for the fat to rise;
when entirely cold remove the fat and
there will remain a firm gelatinous mass
which can be used for soups, gravies,
etc.